


Fire and Ice

by ryukoishida



Series: Sunlight Frenzy. Endless Tales. [23]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, figure skating AU, you know that's going to happen sooner or later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: They share a high five, a hesitant smile threaded with exhilaration and nerves, and a brief half-hug before Arslan steps onto the ice.
Prompt: “Why didn’t you tell me?”; figure skating AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> Erm. I have no excuse for this, except to say that I’ve been wanting to do a figure skating AU for AS for the longest time. The only thing that stopped me was because I did that AU with Free! already and I didn’t want to risk repeating the same ol’ plot. But what the hell; I’m gonna do it anyway. Song used for Arslan’s SP is “Fire and Blood” from the Game of Thrones OST.

They share a high five, a hesitant smile threaded with exhilaration and nerves, and a brief half-hug before Arslan steps onto the ice.

From behind the rink board, where the rest of his flight of skaters from all over the globe attempt to remain calm before stepping into the spotlight for their turn on the ice, Elam finishes re-lacing his skates and watches his rink mate and best friend of five years takes his position in the center of the rink. 

Fourteen-year-old Arslan, moonlight-silver hair tied in a ponytail and donning a beautiful maroon top accented with hints of pale gold and black pants that accentuated his willowy but subtly sculpted legs, looks like he belongs there: a sovereign of an ice kingdom. His midnight blue eyes reflect the quiet resolve in their depth, his mouth set in a delicate, determined line. 

The arena is absolutely still, so that Elam fears even his own breathing is too loud. 

He counts five seconds in his head, and then the eerie notes of Ramin Djawadi’s “Fire and Blood” starts to play over the speakers, and Arslan unfolds, irises burning with sapphire flames.

Arslan has always been a natural when it comes to musicality, and he allows the wispy melody of the bamboo flute carry him through a series of step sequences that take him across and around the rink, every movement of his body deliberate and yielding to the changes of the music, every lift of his eyebrows and twitching of his lips a genuine wish to convey the emotions of the song and the story behind the choreography. 

Soon, he’s preparing for the takeoff of his triple axel, the first and most challenging jump in his short program and the element that the young skater usually excels at – gathering such height that gives the illusion of him flying before his blade touches the crisp ice in a clean landing. 

But today is different. 

Today, Arslan’s eyes doesn’t glow like they usually do at the anticipation of a successful jump. Right now, his tensed limbs scream hesitation and the dark blue in his eyes are tentative, almost as if he’s afraid.

Almost immediately, Elam notices something is wrong. He stands up in alarm, fingers gathered into tight fists as he observes closely and jade green eyes narrowing in deep concentration the moment Arslan takes off into his jump. 

The rotation is quick and beautiful, and he’s hanging in the air as he should, but just as he’s about to land, blade touching the surface of the ice, Arslan pales visibly, and Elam watches on – helpless, desperate to reach out, to steady him – as he falls and crumples onto the ice surface, an expression of pain obvious on his face.

It’s only a few seconds, but the damage is done, and Arslan pushes on despite the apparent discomfort and deducted points the fall has cost him. 

‘His ankle…’ Elam remembers the incident that has caused his friend to halt training for almost a month. But that was almost three months ago. Even their coach Daryun, a foreboding but capable seasoned skater who’s retired from competitive skating in his late 20’s with four national titles and numerous other awards on his shelves, had deemed him healthy enough to enter the World Championships after Arslan had pleaded with him and promised him that he’d notify him immediately if his ankle acted up.

Nobody has noticed anything. Not Daryun, who has been coaching him everyday as the competition approaches. Not Elam, who has been training with him day and night for the last three months.

As the song ascends in intensity, the looming percussion and contrasting hiss of strings bringing the routine to its aggressive climax, Arslan manages to gather enough speed and land a double flip-triple toe jump combination, albeit a bit sloppily, and he ends his performance with a series of graceful spin combination.

It won’t be enough, Arslan knows, but he lets the audiences’ applause washes over him, a warm glow that doesn’t stem from the arena’s too-bright lights spreading from his fingertips to his inner core and a stream of contentment making his heart full and satisfied. 

The moment is his, and his alone. He’ll at least allow himself this much.

When Arslan finally steps off the ice, his breathing more labored than usual and cheeks flushed with exertion, Elam’s gaze focuses on how his friend is favoring his injured ankle, though he’s also careful not to make it too obvious. 

The time spent waiting for the judges’ score is blurry, Arslan’s mind already wiped blank by the hot, twisting pain in his left ankle and his frail attempt to maintain a neutral facial expression as he tries to smile and wave at the camera pointing at him in the kiss and cry area.

He doesn’t need to pay attention to know that his score won’t be enough to get him placed in the top five, and with his ankle like this, Arslan is certain that Daryun will force him to pull out from the free program scheduled for tomorrow evening.

Elam rushes to his side the moment Arslan walks out of the boxed area. 

He doesn’t think when he winds a gentle hand behind Arslan’s neck and pulls him forward until their foreheads touch.

Arslan’s skin is warm and clammy, and they should probably treat his ankle first, but…

“E-Elam?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmurs, then he bites his lower lip to stop more questions from coming out. This is neither the time nor the place. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself out there.”

“I have to try,” Arslan tells him, his voice soft and one hand lightly grasping onto the sleeve of Elam’s jersey. “You know why I have to try.”

When Elam pulls away, he’s surprised to see a shaky smile on the silver-haired skater’s lips.

“Daryun will be furious with you,” Elam warns, “you do know that, right?”

“He only gets mad because he cares,” Arslan says, and he lets Elam lead him to one of the staff members stationed around the rink. He’s not even trying to hide the limping now that the attention and cameras are off from him. 

After Arslan has his ankle treated and bandaged, he and Elam watch the rest of the skaters in their flight perform their routines one by one, only occasionally murmuring a comment or two about some flaws or strengths in the skaters’ routines. 

When Elam’s name is announced, the brunet gets to his feet, his disheveled forelocks hiding whatever emotion is behind his eyes. He doesn’t move for a short moment.

“Arslan.” 

He kneels on one knee so that they can face each other at the same eye level, and Arslan meets his gaze in a silent reply, waiting.

“I will win this – for the both of us.”

Arslan smiles, and the warmth is enough to chase away the chill in Elam’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> SO DID ELAM WIN? WILL WE EVER KNOW? I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ll probably write an Isfan/Gieve fic for this AU, too. So. Yeah. This is going to be a thing now. Sorry.


End file.
